


Alternatives

by shimere277



Category: Drake's Venture (1980)
Genre: M/M, Post July Second, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 23:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shimere277/pseuds/shimere277
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doughtie travels back in time to warn himself of the coming danger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alternatives

            Thomas Doughtie was not a naïve man.  He understood the meaning of the smiles, the shy glances, the brief moments of flickering touch, the embraces held for a moment too long.  According to the standard of his age, he chose to ignore it, calling it friendship.  
            Later, too much later, he realized that he had made a mistake.  It was not simply that had Drake's unspoken suit been accepted, there would not have been the resentment of a scorned lover to add to the case against Doughtie.  To Doughtie, his personal error was far worse.  Although he was innocent of the treachery of which Drake accused him, he felt he was guilty of the greatest treachery of all: betraying his own heart.  And yet he did so at the behest of his soul, and so, on that fateful day at San Julian, if his heart was broken, his soul was whole and ready for heaven.  
            Thomas Doughtie prayed for a miracle.

            "Thomas Doughtie, leave off thy preening and come down to breakfast," said Drake, slapping him playfully on the back.  
            "In a moment, Francis.  The proper affixture of the cloak must not be rushed."  The manservant busied himself with the complicated series of ties even as the gentleman conversed with his friend.  
            Drake smiled indulgently.  "Well, I am right hungry, Thomas, e'en if thou canst control thy appetites for the sake of propriety."  Doughtie grinned weakly; Drake had again touched upon that topic which lay most heavily upon his heart.  He suspected that Drake's jibe was inadvertent; nevertheless, in every way possible, Drake's attraction to Doughtie was obvious, putting Thomas in a precarious position.  "I shall go down.  Join me, thou popinjay, if thy toilet be complete in time for the morning meal."  
            The servant finished shortly, and Doughtie dismissed him.  But the gentleman did not go down to the meal, but rather sat heavily upon the bed, trying to compose himself before he appeared before his lord's general company.  Drake was acting like a coy schoolgirl, and it made Doughtie ache in ways he never would have imagined.  
            After a moment, he knew there was no sense delaying it, and he did not wish to insult his lordship by arriving late.  But as he stood to go, he realized to his surprise that his way was blocked.  It took him the space of a breath to recognize the man in his path as himself – and yet older by several years, more worn, a thousand cares writ across his face.  He was dressed only in his shirtsleeves, and his skin bore the kiss of much time in the sun.  He stepped forward anxiously.  "I have come to warn thee.  There is but little time."  
            Doughtie stepped backward, half stumbling back onto the bed.  The apparition continued, "Forsake not the stirrings of thy heart, or thou shalt come to a bitter end indeed.  Heed me – for I too faced this dark decision, and having chosen purity, I find that I should have chosen love instead."  
            Thomas Doughtie crossed himself.  "Verily, thou art a demon, sent by the devil to tempt me."  
            "That I am here at all is both the provenance of God and my knowledge of John Dee's magicks.  Listen well to me, Thomas Doughtie.  Thou art my former self.  I say to thee that no God will reject thee for that which you choose to love.  And I also warn thee that the object of thy love is of a fiery temperament.  If I can not persuade thee to do what is right, then do what is prudent and accompany him not to the Pacific."  
            "The Pacific?" said Doughtie incredulously.  "What tale of a child's fancy is this?"  
            But the apparition had gone.

            That night, Drake and Doughtie took the air together as good comrades, after a bout of hearty drinking.  They were laughing, teasing each other as friends do; then Doughtie saw a tree and merrily said, "As a child, I would have climbed such."  He boosted himself effortlessly into the first bough, and smiled down at Drake, beckoning for him to join.  
            "The last time I climbed a tree, 'twas in Darien," said Drake as he scrambled up.  The pair sat side by side in the moonlight; Drake fell strangely silent.  
            "Francis, I do see that something lays heavy in thy thoughts," said Doughtie.  
            Drake smiled, but stared at the moon, its light splintered by the branches.  "Aye, Thomas.  As ever, thou knowest my mind better than I.  Wilt thou think me a fool if I confess to thee a vow I took upon that occasion?"  
            "I think thee not the type to make foolish vows, Francis.  I would hear."  
            "Well, thou shalt judge anon.  From the vantage of that tree, I saw both the Atlantic on one side, and the wide Pacific on the other.  And I did swear to be the first man of England to sail that sea – and I shall, whatever comes to pass."  
            Doughtie clutched at the tree suddenly, to keep himself from falling off as the world seemed to sway beneath him.  
            "And now tell me truly, Thomas Doughtie, if thou thinkest this the stuff of folly."  
            Doughtie could barely keep the tremor out of his voice.  The apparition had indeed predicted rightly – but that did not mean it was not of the devil's making.  "Verily, my captain, if it were any other man, would I say aye.  But I know thee well enough to say that thou wilt not take lightly the thwarting of any goal that thou hast fixed thyself upon."  
            "Aye, Thomas," said Drake, placing one hand casually atop Doughtie's.  It was delightfully warm in the cool night air, and it made Doughtie's heart pound in his chest.  "Thou knowest me well.  Wouldst accompany me in this adventure?"  
            A thousand thoughts flew through Doughtie's mind and up into the cloudless sky.  Had he not seen the apparition of this morning, his restless soul would have eagerly agreed, his mind assuring him that such talk was only the idle dreams of men too far in their cups.  But it now faced him as reality, a choice that had to be made, made in this minute, a choice affecting the entire course of his life.  He thought of what it would be like to be on a long, uncertain voyage with the temperamental Drake.  He thought of what it would mean to lie by his side each night in a tiny cabin as the waves tossed them.  He knew it was impossible.  
            Impossible, at least, to continue in such circumstances as friends only.  But if Doughtie said no, it would be impossible for them to continue as friends now.  Drake would feel him less of a man for refusing the challenge, feel him lacking in mettle.  His disillusionment would sour their friendship.  And one way or the other, Drake would go on his Pacific voyage – without Doughtie.  
            These thoughts – of losing Drake's friendship, of perhaps never seeing the wandering mariner again – ate at Doughtie's soul like a bitter, corrosive poison.  He knew that if he said no, he would regret it forever.  And if he said yes, and continued to deny what they both were feeling, it would lead to a destructive confrontation in the future.  
            "Aye, Francis," he said quietly, in a voice that surprised Drake with its seriousness.  "I should follow thee into hell, if need decrees it."  
            Something about his tone told Drake that his mood had shifted.  This was not the boisterous vow of a man whose courage was multiplied by strong ale.  Doughtie was completely sincere.  For the first time in his life, Drake felt known, understood, accepted.  He didn't have to fight for his due – his friend offered it freely.  For reasons he didn't quite comprehend, Drake found himself beaming at Doughtie, and then, suddenly self-conscious, he lowered his eyes.  
            Doughtie closed his eyes, bit his lower lip, and opened his eyes again.  For a moment he hesitated, willing his trembling limbs to move.  Then he reached over to embrace his friend.  
            Their lips met.  
            Perhaps for Francis it began as a friendly kiss, but it soon became much more.  Mouths parted, tongues met and explored – it was so tender and passionate that Doughtie thought he might swoon.  
            Then he realized that they were still in a tree, and still half-inebriated.  "Francis," he whispered.  "Mayhap 'twould be best to continue this adventure somewhat closer to the ground?"  
            The two men walked in silence the distance back to the mansion house.  Each occasionally glanced up at the other.  Sometimes their eyes met, and then Doughtie felt his blood was liquid fire.  It was all he could do to keep from breaking into a run, but both men knew the importance of maintaining the outer semblance of propriety.  
            As they entered the house, Drake made a show of stumbling and laughing uproariously.  The servants cleared out of their way, knowing that it was quite common for the two friends to return in such a manner.  Their bedclothes had already been laid out, and the fire lit, the blankets warmed against the chill of the March evening.  The manservant had no way of knowing that the two men were already dying of their own interior heat.  
            Drake bolted the heavy, oaken door.  Doughtie flung himself across the bed, limbs heavy and relaxed from alcohol, a strange expression, half-mystical, half-wanton, upon his face.  "Francis, dost believe in destiny?" he asked.  
            "Aye, Thomas.  I believe 'tis my destiny to do as I said – and so I shall."  
            "I think," said Doughtie, "that mayhap the destinies of some great men be fixed, while those of others be fluid."  
            "An interesting theory," said Drake, joining him on the bed.  The heat and proximity of his body made it plain to Doughtie that interesting theories would best be discussed upon the morrow.  
            This time, Drake made the first move, shoving Doughtie back onto the bed, straddling him, pressing lips, tongues, loins together.  Doughtie felt his hardening cock straining against the interminable layers of fabric he was wearing – hose, codpiece, slops, doublet.  "Please, Francis," he gasped, pulling away.  "Let us ready for bed."  
            Drake retreated, somewhat warily, perhaps wondering if Thomas was backing off from the intimacy they had shared.  But Thomas smiled, stripping himself coquettishly down to his shirtsleeves, then removing codpiece and hose to expose his naked flank.  Drake stared at him all the while, riveted to the bed.  When Doughtie turned back to him, exchanging his shirt for a sleepshirt, Drake could see his erection bobbing against the dark curls of hair between his legs.  A low, involuntary moan of desire escaped from the mariner's lips.   "Francis," Doughtie chided, "wilt thou makest me to wait?"  
            Drake's complicated ensemble came off with remarkable speed, seemingly all at once, into a heap upon the floor.  Doughtie scarcely had time to admire the compact muscularity of his physique before he was back on the bed.  Doughtie lay next to him, and for a moment they gazed at each other, each a bit hesitant, not certain how to begin.  Then Drake began nuzzling at the gentleman's neck, grabbing his cock in his strong right hand, stroking him vigorously.  Doughtie felt the scratch of Drake's beard, the warmth of his tongue as it worked its way up to Doughtie's earlobe, where Drake tugged playfully at Doughtie's earring with his teeth.  
            Doughtie arched his back, swallowing a moan.  Sound would carry in this ancient manor house; if they were discovered, they could be hanged.  The sudden spike of fear was enough to put him over the edge, and he came far more quickly than he would have liked.  
            He rolled Francis back onto the bed.  He began to explore his partner's body with his hands, his tongue; Francis let out a sharp groan as Thomas nipped gently at a nipple.  "Others may hear," Doughtie cautioned, and Drake looked surprised, as if he hadn't even considered it.  
            Thomas worked his way down to Drake's groin, grasped Drake's cock and pulled back the foreskin.  He took the cockhead into his mouth, playing with his tongue at the most tender parts.  "Thomas!"  Drake cried, but as Doughtie tried to disentangle himself to give Drake a second warning, the mariner laced his hand through Doughtie's hair and force his head to stay where it was.  This rough treatment excited Thomas, and he felt desire arise within him again.  
            Drake thrust forward his hips, making Doughtie take more of his cock, deeper until the tip touched the back of the gentleman's throat.  Then Drake began to move, using Doughtie like a woman.  Thomas could feel the tension in Drake's thighs, feel his grip tighten around Doughtie's dark, thick hair.  
            "Thomas!" Drake cried again, and Thomas tasted the warm, salty liquid in the back of his mouth.  He struggled for a moment, but again Drake held him in place until he swallowed all of it.  He felt ashamed, degraded, a creature of basest sin – and he couldn't wait to do it again.  
            It was something Drake noticed immediately.  "Thy lance is right ready for another joust," he whispered, smiling and triumphant.  
            "Aye," said Doughtie, moving up the bed into Drake's arms.  "But I would take my time with the engagement."  He kissed Francis, who tasted his own come on Doughtie's lips, tasted his power over the gentleman as well.  There was no more potent aphrodisiac than knowing that this splendid, rarefied creature was willing to submit himself to Drake's command.  
            And submit he would.  Drake was happy to lay with his friend, sharing languid kisses and caresses, while his own soldier prepared for another battle.  This time, he would truly plunder Doughtie's treasures.

            They fucked far into the night.  Doughtie was surprised by how much it hurt, more surprised by how much he liked it, once the pain faded.  Ever mindful of his master's household, he bit his tongue to keep himself from begging for more.  Whether he spoke the truth or not, Drake sensed it, and prolonged the experience, filling Doughtie with cock, driving him wild with passion.  Finally, Thomas fell asleep in Drake's arms.  
            He woke abruptly, before the sun rose, full of doubts.  Was the apparition a demon?  Would they be hanged for sodomy?  Would they face eternal damnation?  After all the risks, would it even change the terrible fate at which the ghostly figure had only hinted?  
            Drake, who had been sleeping like a child, felt Thomas stirring.  He threw a lazy arm over his lover.  "My beautiful gentleman," he sighed, half-asleep.  Whatever anxieties disturbed Doughtie, they bothered Drake not at all.  "Thou art mine."  
            "Aye, Francis," Doughtie whispered, burying his face against Drake's strong chest, "I am that."  He had made his choice – he would have to put his trust in the captain's iron will.  Surely Francis Drake would protect that which he possessed.          


End file.
